


And I'm Still Not Sure What I Stand For.

by theworstwolves



Series: The Syndicate [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst?, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, Homophobic Language, I don't think the descriptions of violence are that graphic, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Murder, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Shooting, if you think I need to archive it let me know!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworstwolves/pseuds/theworstwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jobs with Peter are safe and simple, except when they're not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm Still Not Sure What I Stand For.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been over three months since my last edit, I am so sorry.  
> Un-beta'd so any and all mistakes are my own.  
> Title bastardized from Fun - Some Nights.

_February 1923_

It’s a simple enough job, that’s the only reason Scott’s allowed to come with Peter in the first place. There would be no way the man would let him come if he thought that there was some kind of risk – Scott finds this sentiment sweet, though he would never tell Peter that to his face. But the job is safe, easy, and apparently there’s a new restaurant opened up that side of town, they’ll go there after, see if it’s as good as all the reviewers say.

“So what you’re saying is the only reason I’m allowed to come is because it’ll be boring, and then you want to show off?” Scott asks, unable to hide the smirk on his face at Peter’s indignant look. The man always insists that he doesn’t show off, not to Scott not to anyone, but then he also always ‘happens to find’ some French import Champagne that they may as well open almost every weekend. He doesn’t mind, the Champagne is nice, the hazy sex afterwards is better.

Peter huffs, but agrees that it may be something like that yes, and if Scott doesn’t want to come along that’s perfectly fine. Of course he does actually want to come along, he’s always interested in what Peter does, even if it is rather boring most of the time – either boring or far too dangerous for him to even want to get involved in. This job seems like a happy medium, he’s not about to pass up and opportunity like that, even if it does end up being rather dull.

The getting ready is fun though. Scott lets Peter pick out his clothes for him, lets him chose the shirt and jacket and help him get dressed. He frowns as Peter pulls a holster out, moving behind him to slip it over Scott’s shoulders, hands smoothing down the shoulders of his shirt as he does so. When he’s back in front of Scott the boy questions why he has it, watches Peter’s hands as he slips a gun into the holster. “It’s just for security” Peter tells him as his hands move to Scott’s chest, fingers brushing over his nipples as he smirks, “besides, I think you look quite good in it.”

They end up being late for the meeting, what with having to both get redressed.

*

Peter instructs the driver to wait outside for them, it’s only your run of the mill arms deal, get the guns, give the money, leave again. Peter knows someone who has some stuff left over from the war that they’ve only just got back into the country, they’re not the best quality, but sometimes it is quantity over quality. It should be a simple enough task, but then nothing is simple when you’re involved with the Hales.

Scott doesn’t clock what’s going on at first.  Not when they walk into the warehouse where the meet is happening, not when the man there grins and says ‘Hale’ in a voice that sends shivers down Scott’s spine. It’s not until Scott sees the gun in his hand, the fact that he’s pointing it directly at Peter that he realises that something is wrong – very wrong.

He watches as Peter stiffens, the way his posture changes into something that’s tall and imposing, the way his eyes going cold, the way his hand closes over the briefcase with the money in a little tighter. He also notices the way Peter moves to stand in front of him, defensively, but that seems like something that he shouldn’t mention, not now – they have far more important things to focus on now - but not when they’re out of this either.

“And you are?”

Peter asks the man, his voice not betraying that anything is wrong at all. It’s the same voice he used when he helped Scott out of the car, when he drunk his coffee this morning, it says nothing about the fact that they currently both have a gun pointed at them, that this man is in no way the one they were meant to be meeting with. (And Scott won’t even allow himself to question what happened to him, he knows it’s a story he won’t like hearing).

The man smirks, gesticulates with his gun in a way that makes Scott – but not Peter - flinch and tells them, “I’m with the police, though I’m not exactly on duty right now.” He shrugs, as though that thought is of no consequence and offers no further explanation. This obviously isn’t good enough for Peter (it’s not good enough for Scott either but he’s pretty sure that he has no say in any of this, he isn’t really sure that this cop really knows he’s here – he’s happy things stay that way.)

 “And what are you doing here?”

It’s something Scott learnt a long time ago that Peter is good at acting calm, at looking like nothing is bothering him. But then maybe it truly isn’t, Scott really can’t be sure. For all he knows Peter could have guns pointed at him all the time, this is just the first time Scott has been privy to it. He tries to take comfort in that thought, that Peter does know what he’s doing, that this isn’t as new and oh so terrifying for him as it could be.

“I didn’t really have a plan.” The man admits and he’s smiling; smiling like he’s loving this. Which to be honest he probably is. Peter’s scary sure, but the men willing to try and take him on are scarier. “I just thought I’d show up and see what happened.”

The look on Peter’s face makes it obvious that that was a terrible idea, that this isn’t going to end well, and maybe that’s what makes him do it. Or maybe he’s just a bit soft in the head; you’d have to be surely to even think about trying shit like this.

*

There’s a yell when the gun goes off.  It takes Scott a while to realise that it came from him, that that horrible sound of pain and anguish came from his own mouth, unbidden and undeserved.

All that comes from Peter is a low grunt as he stumbles backwards a few steps, right arm going to the wound at his shoulder, left hanging loose at his side. He watches as blood blooms across his shirt, a stark contrast with the way the colour has all but drained from his face.  Scott whimpers slightly, biting down on his lip to try and stop the noise from fully escaping. He thinks maybe he sees Peter roll his eyes weakly, but he can’t be sure, his vision is too blurred from tears for that.

“Bastard” Peter grits out.  He’s ignoring Scott now, focusing all his attention on the man who shot him, eyes warily tracking the gun. He staggers a few more steps before his back connects with a wall, leans heavily against it, breath coming out fast even as he grins. “I’m sure we could have talked this through like gentlemen without resorting to violence.”

*

Scott knows that there’s a conversation going on, he’s vaguely aware that there are words being said but he can’t focus on the particulars right now. It just feels like all he knows is the slight rattle in Peter’s breath as he speaks, the blood dropping on the floor, the way his own heart feels like it’s trying to explode with the way it just won’t steady.  He feels like crying, like shouting out again, cursing the world and everyone in it.

It must show on his face, because the man stops monologuing at Peter to round on him, derision clear on his face as he asks  ‘Christ, what is with the kids snivelling?’ Scott moves a hand up to wipe across his eyes, to try and compose himself. It’s stupid, he has no right to be reacting like this, he thinks of Peter smiling at telling him, _the worlds a cruel place my dear, you just have to learn to roll with the punches._

He suddenly feels so very very young; like he did when his mother died. That’s a thought that just makes him choke some more. He can’t lose anyone else, he can’t lose another person he loves.

Scott knows that there are times for big life changing revelations; this is not one of them. The fact that he loves Peter Hale, _loves_ the man currently bleeding out in front of him, does nothing to make him feel any better, just makes the tight feeling in his chest worse, the tears come faster.

“Tell the kid to fuck off Hale.”

The man snaps, waving his gun around like it isn’t a weapon, like he hasn’t just fired it. Peter’s laugh is so unexpected and so very Peter at the same time. It’s enough to bring Scott back, like his voice is the only thing right now that’s stopping Scott from falling apart at the seams. “I don’t think _the kid_ wants to fuck off” the gangster coughs, “he seems happy to stay here, right Scott?”

It’s a relief when the man turns away from Peter, fixes Scott with his cold eyes like suddenly the boy is the most interesting thing in the world. He thinks vaguely that it says something worrying about him, that he feels better knowing that the gun is pointed at him rather than Peter. The cop – or whatever he is - crouches down in front of him, hands on his knees as he brings his eyes level with Scott’s. “What hold’s he got over you?” He muses, though it’s clear that it’s not really a question. “I mean if it’s money – is that it, do you owe him money? – if it’s money you can take the case and run. Or anything else you owe him, it’s not like he can come collect when he’s dead…”

Scott’s intake of breath at the word is sharp and watery and he hates himself for it, at the way the word twists in his gut like it’s him who was shot. The man straightens himself up, looks back at Peter and huffs out a horrid laugh. He turns back to Scott, “are you a fucking fairy, kid?” It’s like the sentence starts out as a mere jibe, but Scott can hear the malice creeping in with each word, the way his expression quickly becomes one of disgust. It’s almost like this isn’t a game for him anymore, his initial plan to shot a gangster and see what happens suddenly has an agenda.

“The great Peter Hale, doing business with dirty little queers…” he punctuates his words by spitting in Scott’s face before something dawns on him. He walks over to Peter, hand going to his wounded shoulder, pressing down hard as he look him square in the face. His words are barely a whisper, each one interspersed with spittle, “Oh… you are actually _doing business.”_

He pushes off Peter hard, causing him to huff out a pained breath that makes it seem like Scott can almost feel the wound himself. “This has been fun boys, but you know, even I have morals, I won’t associate with faggots”

Scott watches as he steps back, brings the gun up to point at Peter’s head, reloads and cocks it.

*

There are a few seconds where his mind just blanks, stops working for a moment like it’s all too much for him to process. Scott’s glad of that really, because later, if anyone were to ask him how he did it, he’d be able to say he literally doesn’t know. He doesn’t hear the sound of the gun this time, or any cry, it’s only the feeling of it slipping out of his own shaking hand, the clang of metal on the floor that brings him back to himself.

His eyes are fixed on Peter, who is looking at him with a look he can’t quite define; horrified awe, pride, and something softer show in every line of his face. “Oh my boy, my beautiful brave boy.”

That’s all it takes for Scott to stagger towards him, stepping over the body without a thought for it at the moment, for the man who’s life he’s just ended. He can’t care right now, won’t care right now, because Peter’s okay and he’s holding him close and that’s all that matters – even as Scott’s tears fall on his shirt and mix with the blood there.

*

He’s not sure how long they stay there, both of them shaking – perhaps both of them crying though only one will admit it – but eventually Peter stands them both up, laughs slightly when he tells Scott the driver will be wondering what took them so long, and he’s in no state to try that restaurant now.

Scott doesn’t leave his side, doesn’t stop touching him, feeling warm - if clammy - skin under his fingers and gripping tight, reassuring himself that Peter’s alive and here and safe. Not going anywhere, not leaving him like everyone else he’s loved. He takes that feeling, the hope and the fear and locks it up tight in his chest. He’s not ready to share those thoughts just yet.

But Peter’s there for him in the night, when the adrenaline wears off and he’s struck with the horror of what he’s just done, Peter lets him cry and scream and tells him, “I’m here Scott. I’m here because of you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This took far longer to get up than I thought it would - I kind of had a crisis of confidence about this 'verse and my writing and my place in the fandom so sorry for the delay. I hope it's worth it (and that paranoid me wasn't right). 
> 
> I found a historical thesaurus today, I was so excited about it! All my terrible insults are ones that would have been used in the 20's. I'm half loving the accuracy and crying about injustice. 
> 
> As always check out TheHaleSyndicate on tumblr and come ask me questions about this 'verse, I love getting and answering them.
> 
> Pretty much all else I have to say is that I love you all <3 and I hope that this is worthy for you.
> 
> Oh and Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all you lovely people!


End file.
